Chapter 26 #2
Desperately, I wiggled the key back and forth. I shoved so hard the brass should’ve snapped, but miraculously it didn’t. When the lock finally clicked, the sound cracked like gunfire. I didn’t care. I was going to get inside, away from this fight, find Mason, and—
My thoughts halted at the sound of a car climbing my driveway.
Begrudgingly, I looked back just in time to see Leona’s husband, Atticus, park behind Cameron’s truck.
An inky feeling washed down my back as I watched him step out of his SUV.
Normally, Atticus was a well-dressed man.
He’d actually been the one who taught me how to pick a suit, have it tailored to look more like a man and less like a kid playing dress-up.
But right now, he wore what looked like his pajamas from last night.
They were still rumpled from sleep—or, judging by the dark circles under his eyes, lack thereof.
In his hands was a large manila envelope, and I couldn’t imagine it contained anything good.
The squabbling behind me stopped as he approached us, halting at the bottom of my steps like the very idea of standing near the three of us would be enough for Leona to rip his head off.
“Where’s Cameron?” he asked, glancing around as if my boyfriend would randomly appear.
Sophia smoothed her hair, collecting herself before turning to face Atticus. I thought she was about to spin some long-winded story to make him leave, but she continued to surprise me.
“Why?” she asked.
Atticus paused a moment before threading his fingers through his hair.
“I… Mason wanted to talk to him before I delivered this.” He glanced down at the envelope.
“What is this?” I extended a hand, but Atticus pulled the documents close to his chest.
“I really don’t want to give it to you, so if Cameron is here, I think you should let him go talk to Mason.”
“I’ll go talk to Mason,” I offered.
But Atticus shook his head.
“I don’t know what happened last night, but I know Mason is distraught, and Leona is in full-on mama-bear mode. And I’m not getting in the middle of it.” He sounded almost as fed up as I felt.
“And why not?”
“Because Mason asked me not to.” He leveled his eyes at me, shoulders squared like he’d braced for a punch.
“She doesn’t want you, or Lucian, or Sophia near her.
She doesn’t want you guys near the kids.
She doesn’t feel safe right now. And before she does anything official, she just wants to talk to—”
“I know she wants Cameron.” A bark of wry laughter punctuated my words. “But he’s asleep in the truck and too fucking drunk to stand. Don’t you understand how fucking crazy this whole thing is?”
I started down the steps, and Atticus moved back, maintaining a professional distance between us.
Like I was some fucking stranger. Like I hadn’t tutored his oldest son when he was too fucking stupid to pass classes that I'd aced at age eight. Like I wasn’t the one Leona called to watch him when they had their second kid.
Like he hadn’t been the one I called when I needed to know literally anything about being a man.
“No, I do. But you need to calm down,” he warned.
“Calm down?” I pointed at myself. “I just lost my girlfriend and children over a misunderstanding, and now I have you acting like I’m a fucking stranger.”
I took another step toward him, fists curling, the mist in the air doing nothing to cool the boil under my skin. My chest heaved like I’d sprinted a mile, every nerve buzzing with the urge to do something. Fix it. Fight it. Tear it all down if I had to.
“This whole thing is fucking ridiculous,” I snapped. “And I’ve had enough.”
Atticus didn’t flinch, didn’t move. Just squared his shoulders and looked me dead in the eye. “Sebastian, if you keep pushing like this, you’re going to make it impossible for her to come back. Do you understand me? You want Mason and the kids? Then stop acting like the guy she’s afraid of.”
The words cut me to my core, and I stopped in my tracks.
“She’s afraid… of me?” My voice came out far too small.
And Atticus nodded.
“Like I said, I don’t know what happened, and I don’t want to know what happened. I just—” He heaved out a breath before pushing the envelope into my hands.
It was stiff. Weightier than I expected.
“Atticus, what is this?” I asked, now sounding like a scared child whose nightlight had just shut off.
Atticus didn’t answer. He just pressed his lips into a hard line, then turned and jogged to his car, his shoes splashing through the puddles. A moment later, the slick black vehicle vanished into the grey, swallowed by the mist.
And I was left standing alone, the envelope burning in my hands like it held the end of my life. Which, to be fair, it kind of did.
I wanted to rip it open, or throw it in the gutter, or chase Atticus down and demand he take it back. But my legs wouldn’t move, and my fingers wouldn’t let go.
So I just stood there in the rain, clutching the weight of Mason’s decision, too scared to look and too broken not to. My mind ran in wonky, lopsided circles, and I started to shake.
What the fuck was I going to do?